Chapter Eleven Grow My Shame ~November~
Grow My Shame
November
Samantha
IHAVEN’T BEEN TO THE OFFICE in weeks. If Teddy needs me, I talk to him over the phone or desktop share if he needs more guidance than words alone.
But, honestly, I don’t have much else to teach him.
It’s all just my opinion now. We’ve moved beyond my expertise as to what’s best as Joseph’s PA.
Teddy is making his own rulebook now. I only guide when asked, and it’s usually application-related.
It’s really my Microsoft Office skills that are needed. I’m his personal helpdesk, I suppose.
My life consists of going between school and home now.
Fiona has been handling all wedding-related tasks, dealing with our wedding planner, Jackie, as needed.
School is the perfect excuse as to why I’m too busy to deal with it properly.
The reality is, as much as I try to deny it, I’m avoiding everything wedding-related.
If I can’t brush it off and change the subject, then I make any excuse to separate myself from the person asking.
We’re six weeks away, and that means Thanksgiving is only a few weeks off, which also means tonight is our couple’s wedding shower.
I insisted that we keep the festivities down to only one.
I don’t have any family to invite or to host a shower.
I don’t have enough female friends to attend a non-family shower, and Margot can’t afford to throw one, plus she’s in Austin.
It doesn’t seem fair to put that kind of pressure on her.
Therefore, Joseph and I requested that we have a couple’s shower with family and friends.
So, no girly, all white, tea and finger foods shower for me, which I’m totally fine with.
Especially since I have no desire to be the center of attention, which goes against the whole bridal tradition of being doted on. I don’t want that. At. All.
“Why are you frowning?” Joseph’s voice startles me.
I turn from the bathroom mirror. He’s watching me from the door, his brow hard-set in a line. I grab what I need for my clutch and skirt around him. “I can’t shake the feeling we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“What? Having a wedding shower?” He follows, hot on my heels, his gaze hitting mine in my dresser mirror.
I slip my cell phone into my small purse as I step into my pumps. “No. Yes, but not just that.”
His steps, never far behind, as I walk to the kitchen. “I’m not letting this bitch, or whoever it is, stop me from marrying you.” His voice is hard and chockfull of emotion.
Grabbing a bottled water, I hand it to him before getting one for myself. “Maybe you should.”
He hates this discussion. We’ve had it many times over the last few weeks, since the last letter and picture arrived.
I can barely look at him without seeing that picture.
I can’t get it out of my mind. I haven’t even let him touch me since that night.
He’s pissed and frustrated. “Don’t fucking do this. ”
His anger grows, and I just become silent, resolved, and distant. I’m pushing him away, preparing for the worst. Each letter said it would get worse until I finally left him. Maybe it’s time to heed that warning, at least until the person is caught.
Do I believe he’s cheating on me? No, not really.
But the doubt is so tangible, it’s like a third person in the room.
It sours everything. It’s turned his touch into flinches of pain.
It’s turned his look of love and desire into a mask I can only see him using on someone else.
He’s pissed at it getting to me, and I’m helpless to see anything else but his face in that come-shot.
We silently board the elevator and meet Michael in the garage.
He’s driving us to Joseph’s parents’ house for the shower.
William will be outside, along with a few other guys keeping watch, but they have orders to stay in the shadows since our friends and family don’t know what’s going on.
Michael opens the door and stares at me when I remain mute, barely making eye contact with him.
I slip into the back of the SUV, and the door closes behind me as Joseph and Michael converse in voices too low for me to make out. But I don’t miss the shortness in tone from either of them as they make their way around the car to get in.
Michael’s penetrating glare in the rearview mirror does nothing to ease my nerves.
“Sam,” he says softly, too softly, with too much concern.
He thinks I’m an idiot, too. I’m surrounded by testosterone-laden men who can’t see that perhaps it’s best to delay the wedding and lie low until things blow over.
God forbid it make them appear weak by giving in to the threats.
I, on the other hand, would like to get married without the threat of unspeakable packages already received, and those yet to be delivered, tainting everything in my path.
My path to the altar is littered with nasty letters saying how much Joseph loves another woman, fucks her better, comes for her harder, leaves articles of clothing covered in their sexual secretions as proof of their joining.
And yes, let’s not forget the lovely picture of Joseph in complete and utter rapture as he has sex with someone else.
Nothing says joyous wedding like the proof of your betrothed’s sexual exploits that don’t include his bride.
Do I believe he’s cheating? No.
Do I believe this whole episode is tainting our wedding? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Joseph squeezes my hand, and I fight to keep it securely ensconced in his. This is the man you love. Let him hold your hand, for God’s sake. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
“Please, Samantha. Let it go.” His lips brush my cheek. “Let’s just enjoy tonight with our friends and family as we celebrate.” He tips my chin, and I open my eyes to meet his warm green ones. “I love you. Don’t think about anything else but that.”
I curl into his side. “Okay.” I can do that.
He loves me.
He loves me.
He. Loves. Me.
Joseph
I can’t stand how much this is affecting her, affecting our relationship.
I thought it was tough after her dad died, but this arbitrary line she’s drawn between us, keeping me at a distance, keeping me from touching her intimately, makes that time look like a walk in the park.
She can’t look at me without seeing that picture.
I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know how to wipe it from her mind.
How to make her see me as I am now and not how I looked while having sex with some woman I can’t even remember.
“You look tired, son.” Dad claps me on the back and motions across the room. “Your bride doesn’t look much better.”
“There’s just a lot going on, Dad.”
“She looks like she’d rather be any place else but here.” Fin hands me a beer.
“Thanks.” I take a long pull, watching Samantha talking to Margot, Mom, and two of my aunts. “She hates being the center of attention.”
Fin chuckles. “Then she’s gonna love opening gifts in front of everyone.”
“Gifts? We said no gifts. We don’t need anything.” And if we do, we can buy it for ourselves.
“Your mother is a traditionalist. You have a wedding, you have wedding gifts. It’s not about whether you can afford to buy it for yourself or not. It’s about everyone expressing their happiness for you—by buying you gifts.” He shrugs with a laugh, his look telling me get used to it.
I wonder if Samantha knows there will be gifts.
Jace joins us, greeting my dad and Fin before eyeing me. “You look like shit,” he teases, but I also see deeper meaning in his gaze.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. How is she?” He scans the room until he finds Samantha.
“Distant.” A single word that sums it up.
He looks to my dad and Fin, who are deep into MCI business, oblivious to the two of us. “I’m sorry, man. I know this has to suck. I’m making progress.” He glances around and whispers, “Next week. She’ll be in town.”
I know exactly who the she he’s referring to is, and I hope that means he’ll be meeting up with Tiff when she’s in town. A raised brow is all it takes for confirmation.
“Yes, we have plans to meet up.”
“That’s great news.” Maybe we can get this wrapped up before Thanksgiving. That will give me nearly four weeks to make Samantha forget all about it before we say I do.
Damn, that day cannot come soon enough for me.
Samantha
“Babycakes, what’s going on? I don’t think you could look more miserable if you tried.” Sebastian pulls me from a group of Joseph’s family members I’ve never met before.
“Shit, Bash, I’m trying. I really look that bad?” I thought I was doing a pretty good job of faking it. I actually meant many of the smiles and thank yous I’ve given in the last hour and a half.
He nudges me with his shoulder as we continue moving away from the crowd. “No, I can just read you. It’s my job to pick up on patient cues even when they don’t want me to see what’s really going on.”
I sag in relief. “I really don’t want to be here. Can you just act like you’re me, but be all friendly and social like you, which is not like me at all, but it’s the me that needs to be here?”
He laughs. “I think you’ve cracked.” His hand presses to my forehead, then he feigns taking my pulse. “Nope, nope no fever, heartbeat normal. Yep, you’re all good.”
If only he knew how not good I really am.
His stare pins me in place, waiting for an explanation. I sigh. “I’m just tired. School is busy, life is…busy. You know I don’t like social situations.”
“Psh, that’s not true. You’re great at social situations.” He looks around the room. “You just don’t like this big of a crowd.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “You like smaller, intimate gatherings like our happy hours, where you know everyone.”
I nod. “And where I’m not the focus.”
“Ah, yes. I hate to break it to you, but you’re going to have more eyes on you than this at your wedding. You’d better get used to it.”
“I wished we’d just eloped,” I whisper more to myself than him.